


I will keep my head, we will feel our way through the dark

by InwardAdventure



Category: The Serpent Gates - A. K. Larkwood, The Unspoken Name - A. K. Larkwood
Genre: F/F, IN WHICH the girls get a gosh darn break, IN WHICH there is a shopping montage, IN WHICH they’re using ellipses like boomers I’M SORRY, mealworm tour lesgo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:28:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24853105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InwardAdventure/pseuds/InwardAdventure
Summary: After the end, a new beginning. Ships, gates, and towns: Csorwe and Shuthmili get to just be.
Relationships: Csorwe/Qanwa Shuthmili
Comments: 6
Kudos: 6





	I will keep my head, we will feel our way through the dark

The beginning was the hardest part.

Everything depended on them going far from Qaradoun, on neither of them being recognized, on being able to fade into the chaos and mundanity of the worlds around them.

One: boarding a ship that would leave shortly- the destination didn’t matter. Two: new clothes for Shuthmili, who couldn’t remain in rags of the condemned for long. Three: Well, that would come once one and two were figured out.

Csorwe got them passage aboard a trade ship soon enough. Shuthmili once again found herself wearing Csorwe’s coat over a garment unsuitable for public wear. She gripped the front to keep her hands from shaking- every now and then the closeness of the fate she had just escaped echoed within her like she was a hollow cave. She allowed herself to be guided to a cabin within, small and with two narrow bunks stacked atop each other. So little time had passed since the rest of her life had opened up before her once more, she almost expected the sights before her eyes to fade back to the arena, hollering crowd, and sealed fate. Csorwe’s hands enclosed around her own broke her out of this vision: she instead focused on the face in front of her in the dim light. The unspoken feeling in those eyes. The care, the finally-allowed hope.

The ship departed and night fell. At last Csorwe was apparently comfortable enough to take them up to the deck, and they watched Qaradoun fade into the distance, a glowing haze on the horizon, reds and warm golds. They stared at the infinite stars for an unknowable amount of time, and finally retired back to their cabin. Shuthmili moved the bedding and pillows onto the floor as she had once before, and the two of them curled up side by side, facing each other until the world faded around them.

The next morning, Csorwe reported a minor failed mission: she had gone into the ship’s common area, loudly lamenting that her traveling companion had had her belongings stolen and needed only a change of clothes, and that she would be willing to pay a fair amount for this. No one had responded. Selfish bastards. This would have to wait for the next refueling station, which would at least promise a better selection than a handful of passengers and crew. At least she had brought bread and soup for breakfast.

They returned to the deck: hazy clouds bordered the horizon, but the sun shone bright and bold in an otherwise clear sky. In this light, Csorwe’s pupils were pinpricks, her gold irises shining above a loose smile. Shuthmili tucked this sight away into her mind. She had also seen hints of blushes on Csorwe’s face before, dark and stony grey, but only in the darkness- to see them in this light would be something else. But they were not truly safe yet, they were both still on edge, and this could wait. Better to enjoy when they were both able to truly let their guard down. Something to look forward to, then.

-

The Peacock Gate was again an obvious place to be and for them to be found, given its proximity to Qaradoun and their last experience here. But they didn’t have to spend forever here- just long enough to get Shuthmili some goddamned clothes and have that tragically forsworn hot meal Csorwe had been looking forward to all that time ago. She didn’t even know if the Qarsazhi were looking for them, if they were here; the two of them had disappeared into the execution arena's transformed crystal floor along with Sethennai, so she wasn’t sure what the Qarsazhi officials who had watched were thinking. If they were regrouping, considering going after Tlaanthothe, considering them a lost cause after all that- no possibility seemed certain, so she didn’t let herself settle on truly believing any one of them. They had to be ahead of whatever pursuit there might be, they could take a second to catch their breath and enjoy themselves, and then they would be gone and out of the long reach of Shuthmili’s people once more. And again, as many times as it took, or until they all grew bored or gave up, or- maybe they could creatively fake their deaths, that would be fun, right? There was much to think about. In the meantime: clothes.

This was honestly the first time in her life Shuthmili could choose what she could wear, and she was going to enjoy it. If she had gotten her dream, this shop would stock all manner of absurd and unlikely things, from formal dresses to a soldier’s armor, from a farmer’s working clothes to fishing gear. As it were, at a refueling station, her selection was practical traveling clothes. There was style and choice within even so, and she made the most of this time. The shopkeep noticed Shuthmili’s enthusiasm and energy immediately upon her approach, and his eyes widened slightly in dawning horror of how long this all might take. He gave her a rundown of the store, sat at his desk in the front, pulled out a book, and turned away from them. Shuthmili brightened at the diminished scrutiny, and absolutely, as Csorwe later put it, went wild.

After an extended period of silliness, posing in front of mirrors, gauging Csorwe’s reactions (which was difficult given her consistently supportive nods and grins), inventing characters that she was now determined to use at some point in the future, and running laps from the room in the back to whatever Csorwe was holding in her arms for the next round, she settled on a nondescript dark red top, black trousers, jacket, boots, satchel, and wide-brimmed hat. To complete the look, she unwound her signature plaits and instead tied and tucked her hair up under her hat. When she asked Csorwe how she looked, Csorwe took a while to answer, staring a little too long and swallowing twice before giving her approval. Shuthmili beamed, Csorwe paid the reawakened shopkeep, and Shuthmili tucked her hand through her elbow as they left.

Now: logically not as important for blending in, but increasingly most prominent thing in either of their minds: food.

The canteen may not have been attractive, but it got the job done. Csorwe got them a table off to the side, tucked behind the entrance’s wall. She ordered a few servings of her favorites, plus a few novelties for Shuthmili’s sake. Crispy fried mealworms on generously sauced noodles, shrunken grilled vegetables, too-strong cheese, and pastries surrounded them. The conversation they had been carrying out before their orders began to arrive petered out and gave way to Shuthmili’s nearly musical noises of satisfaction and arm flapping. Csorwe tried to chew around a goofy smile that refused to leave her face.

On their way out, a fallen army of used plates behind them, they caught sight of a slouching figure across the room, drinking and picking at food.

Tal.

His eyes slunk over to them, his mouth formed a disbelieving smile that he quickly reformed into a sneer. From his sitting position, he lifted one leg into the air, toes pointed like a dancer’s, and gave them a middle finger from under his leg. Csorwe flourished a hand in a mock-bow, a smile that reached her eyes too much to quite match his, and they left.

-

They were in back in Grey Hook of all places. It seemed oddly fitting to Csorwe, to go back to the beginning (no, not that beginning) to where she could blend in again, rebuild. All right. Step one: lodgings. Step two: deposit the majority of her savings in a bank, so that she could breathe easier and in a less jangly fashion. Step three: explore, see what had changed since she had last really let herself be here. Which restaurants had closed, which shops were new, how big her favorite tree west of the marketplace had grown. After addressing the first two items on the list, the two of them walked through the central marketplace. They had not beaten the crowds, and the day’s selection was diminishing, but they were still here and there were still things to see. 

The top of Shuthmili’s head came up to about Csorwe’s shoulder: as they walked side by side, most prominent in her view was the sharp line of Csorwe’s chin, the confident angle she held it, eyes ahead, focused and keenly aware.

The crowds parted easily for them, for Csorwe. Shuthmili observed her in silence for a minute, then stepped a bit apart from her and did her best to encapsulate the Csorwe Walk. Straight but still somehow relaxed posture, gaze straight in front of them, intent and forceful, allowing a bit of what she hoped to be a light swagger into her step. Sure enough, the crowd started parting a bit differently for her, people giving her a wider berth even while their eyes remained focused elsewhere. Interesting! She slid back into her disaffected mage persona, collapsing in on herself slightly, taking up less space, stare more abstract. People still parted, but came a bit closer, let themselves invade her space a bit before arcing around, let their eyes linger on her in some form of analysis or judgment before sliding away. She watched the other people moving around her, the ways they too held themselves, and in turns modulated between them, observing with a surprisingly playful satisfaction how the buffeting currents of people changed around her. She was back in her Csorwe Walk when she felt Csorwe Eyes upon her. She turned her head, an unconsciously formed guilty smile on her lips.

“What are you doing?” asked the Master of the Csorwe Walk.

“You tell me,” said the Apprentice of the Csorwe Walk. “I’m just following your lead.”

“I don’t look like that- I- You look like you’ve been given eggshells for breakfast. I don’t-“

Shuthmili shrugged, still smiling, eyebrows raised in a challenge, and relaxed into her natural gait. She moved closer to Csorwe, allowing herself to fall back into her wake as people whirled around them, each their own story.

-

Days passed them by. Habits changed.

Csorwe had gradually come to leave more space between her bouts of “How are you?” and “Are you all right?" - she was trusting Shuthmili to reach out first and tell her if something was amiss.

At the beginning, she had naturally gravitated toward Shuthmili whenever they were out in public, hovering next to her, a hint of apprehension in the air. By now, she seemed content to drift a bit further, whacking a large fruit by her ear or conducting other vital business in the market while Shuthmili moved in her periphery. It was an effort, to be sure, if the moments she appeared to catch herself repeating old habits indicated anything. But it was a change Shuthmili appreciated: being treated as an adult navigating the world, rather than the dependent she had been relegated to being her entire life. Even if the ancient art of haggling still frightened her, if someone detected self-doubt within her and would try to spin their interaction – she could ask for Csorwe’s help, but this would always be her call.

By day, Shuthmili’s eyes swept across everything they could reach. Musicians played in the street with instruments she had never seen or heard. She watched the people around them, who ignored them, who stopped to listen, who stopped to listen and tossed a coin into the feathered hat placed in front of them. She walked close to them to assess the average amount passersby contributed, added in her own. The music faded into the distance, and passing conversations moved in and out of her awareness. She picked out phrases she hadn’t heard before, or that appeared to hold meanings she hadn’t been aware of. A way to politely but abruptly end a conversation, a way to hook a person back into an agreement they were starting to back out of, a seemingly terrible insult. She cataloged these observations and suspicions away, tried applying some of them herself to varying results. She could make mistakes, she could learn. Ah, learning:

The gauntlets were a project, one that elicited focus and excitement. Most evenings, Shuthmili would put them on and gauge what levels of repair she needed to conduct on herself when using them compared to usual, her levels of exertion, even her appetite following the use of magic. The process went slowly, and she assured Csorwe that she would go about this methodically, controlling for each variable and being careful. Going like this, they wouldn’t be sure of what she could truly do with the gauntlets for a while. Csorwe seemed a bit relieved to hear this- a slow project meant they could linger here for longer, allowed to savor these long, stretching days filled with nothing and everything. 

Even so, magic and study couldn’t keep her busy forever. On their forays out into the market, Shuthmili found herself gravitating towards booksellers. Here, now, she could read anything: not just books for study or Church-approved volumes for research, but anything another being had decided was worth being put to paper. It was exhilarating. She threw herself into the range of it all at first: books on music across Gates, books cataloging things of no consequence, and what turned out to be a terrible, terrible romance.

“They don’t even like each other! If I hear about one more ‘perfect knee’ or what have you… How can this- who _reads_ this?” she erupted one afternoon. Csorwe looked up from where she was cleaning her sword, an easy smile taking up residence on her face.

“I know- there’s a lot out there to sift through if you want the good stuff.”

“Do you have any recommendations then, o well-read one?”

Csorwe blushed a bit. “None I can recommend in good conscience, not really.”  
  
Shuthmili sighed. “A shame. I’ll have to keep looking.”

-

Csorwe no longer left the inn for more than a couple hours without a small knapsack filled with provisions. It may not have been necessary, as they were virtually surrounded by shops and restaurants. But she liked the habit, and if they were caught off-guard, or when they were traveling again, or even if they went out to venture into the woods for a day, she felt better-prepared for whatever might come.

Under the prescription of _Eating Food When She Was Hungry, Dammit_ , Shuthmili was looking better than Csorwe had ever seen her. Her gaze was less tight, less weary; her shoulders almost relaxed as well when she reclined in a chair or bench, and her skin- people sometimes used the phrase “glowing” to describe good skin, and this didn’t seem quite apt, but it was good enough. There truly was something to be said for not constantly being on the run from one deadly predicament to another with virtually no supplies. She could get used to this, to seeing Shuthmili like this.

One unfortunate thing caught Csorwe by surprise: her own ability to get sick. After less than a week in Grey Hook, she found her throat aching one morning, energy sapped from her body, and an inability to decide whether she was hot or cold. Shuthmili fretted by her side, seemed determined to make her soup (“With what ingredients?” Csorwe had asked) until she realized the number of steps it would take, the unfamiliarity of most of them, and resigned herself to instead venture outside and bring back what was definitely too much food. Csorwe did her best to sip and chew her way through these offerings, though Shuthmili ended up consuming most of them herself.

Csorwe was back on her feet in two days, but she found herself slightly shaken. If she couldn’t always be there for Shuthmili- and she couldn’t, not all the time, especially if- no, never mind thinking about that now. Besides, a sense of independence was important, especially when starting over. Any sense of control, any ability to fend for oneself was more than worthwhile. New plan: come up with a list of things Shuthmili may not be able to do and needed to or may want to learn: _Cooking. Laundry. Steering a ship_ (this would be a godsend to Csorwe’s sleeping habits). _Swimming? More with money. Hobby??_ She would consult with Shuthmili, begin little by little building those up. Give her room, space to grow and make these things her own.

They talked, and Shuthmili was definitely interested, albeit with the apprehension of someone trying new things they would inevitably be terrible at to start. She also made a point that Csorwe hadn't consciously realized: with Shuthmili more able to fend for herself, Csorwe could better banish any doubts that Shuthmili might continue sticking with her only because she could not survive otherwise. 

Cooking seemed like an easy place to begin. She should learn to make at least a few basic things. Csorwe started with tried and true favorites with three ingredients or less. No chemical transformations that needed to take place, just heat to make things taste good. Trusting herself with the blade and being able to tell when food was done were the most difficult parts, but in the evenings they set about this, Shuthmili brought her utmost effort, academic prowess, and a wooden spoon held rigidly up in the air, her mouth bunched up in concentration.

The two days of sickness, of relative uselessness, also brought another concern to the front of Csorwe’s mind.

“We have a few weeks before Oranna might call in her favor.”

As Csorwe sat on the edge of the bed in their room, she watched Shuthmili’s eyes upon her, serious and waiting. She had told Shuthmili about the arrangement earlier, the obligation, to some extent, though detail may have been sacrificed as they were focused on more immediate needs. At least a month, Oranna had said. That could mean anything, but now that they had settled, now that they had some time:

“All I can say is that there will probably definitely be a few days then when I’m back in danger mode, and knowing Oranna, whatever it is will be hairy. I’m not going all doom and gloom on you- if I have any say in it, we’ll go back right after to this, to whatever we want to follow this. But our break won’t last forever, and we should… make the most of it, or something. Move on soon, see more places, try more station food.”

Shuthmili nodded, eyes never leaving her face, thinking.

“Sorry to drop that on you now, but it didn’t seem fair to keep going without at least acknowledging the clock counting down.” She found herself looking down as she awaited Shuthmili's response. The wooden floor in the center of the room, worn down by countless feet, bowed slightly.

“It is a shame to remember. I was hoping to live out this little dream a little longer…”

Csorwe looked up to see Shuthmili turned to face the window, even though only blackness could be seen outside. Csorwe took a breath. “But it’s not a dream. This is our life now. For now at least, until we decide we like something else better. It’s not ending, not if I can help it. It may change, some adventure will come back into it if we allow it, but nothing is for sure. Whatever happens, it’s still our choice.”

Shuthmili stood up from her chair by the dwindling embers of the fireplace, crossed the small room, and brought her hands to either side of Csorwe’s face. Lifted it gently, closed her eyes and placed her lips between Csorwe’s eyes. When she finally pulled back, she saw that Csorwe’s eyes had closed as well, and they slowly opened to meet hers again.

“I know. And thank you. And… I’m glad. Glad to have you, that you chose me, that after everything, for however long, we have… this.”

Csorwe gently closed her hands over Shuthmili’s. “Me too. Given all the odds…”

They came together again, low red light of the fire still warm.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "I Don't Know" by Lisa Hannigan
> 
> have I mentioned, I do, enjoy commas,, far too much,,,


End file.
